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NEWSLETTERS
January
'05 GoatNotes
"To grow a garden you've gotta have patience
You need to work in it every day
Mother Nature will give you the most resistance
but you can turn it into something anyway."
Terri Hendrix - Acre of Land
I knew I had been working too hard at the construction site (my home)
when I pulled a steaming-hot Christmas turkey out of the oven without
the use of oven mitts (or towels). And in lieu of tongs, I stuck my bare
hands into open flames and stoked the wood in my fireplace without
getting burned ... or at least not noticing if I did. Because after a year-and-a-half
of working on floors, removing wallpaper, filling holes, texturing, and
painting, I've come to realize my hands are tougher than a one-eared alley
cat. It's time for a break (and a new pair of gloves).
Reflecting upon these past few years of home improvement, I've gotta laugh
at the memories I've made along the way. Like buying a gallon of
Cider Toddy paint (so ugly it would run a dog off a meat truck), accidentally
tipping it over, stepping in it the entire time I was "cleaning"
it up and then tracking it on my new kitchen rugs. On another
occasion, while painting the laundry room Renaissance Blue (so ugly
it could make onions cry), my mutt Jessie curiously stuck his nose
in the paint can. He then dipped his black fluffy tail in the paint
tray and proceeded to spray the house blue before I could catch him (he
was slicker than a chased greased hog). A few years ago, I unknowingly
included dog hair along with the finishing wax I was using to seal my
new satillo tile floors. And recently, I put Kilz (primer) on a bedroom
wall, grew impatient, didn't let it dry properly, scraped a bubbled section
... and brought the entire section of the wall down, covering myself in
wallpaper, sheetrock, and primer. Although my common sense is sometimes
scarce as hen's teeth, I've learned there's a limit to how much dried
latex paint plumbing will accept, "huggers" are ceiling fans,
"holidays" are spots that need touching up on walls, and
if you guess at measurements, your new stove won't fit. Also, because
color samples are the exact opposite of what they're named, it's a
sure bet poor color choices like Cider Toddy and Renaissance Blue
will be tougher than a cob to avoid, much less paint over.
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Personally, "the art of removing wallpaper" has been quite an
adventure these past few years. But every time I've found myself
frustrated while struggling through a task, I've been reminded of my late
mentor, Marion Williamson, and her "acre of land" philosophy.
She said each of us are born on our own acre. And the choices we make
or don't make on our acre affect everyone around us. In short, what we
do with the land we've been given, in spite of its riches or lack there-of, is
up to us, and of course ... Mother Nature.
In 1992, Marion invested thousands of dollars in planting organic pecan
trees on her farm in Quemado,Texas, only to watch them all wiped out from
a severe case of cotton root rot. In spite of Marion's best intentions, when
Mother Nature paid her "acre" an untimely visit, she was at her
mercy. Typical "Marion," she found humor in the situation and
in doing so taught me to do the same. In the bigger picture, acceptance
— mixed with a good sense of humor — is part of the process
of making sense out of the senseless. But just as Rodney Crowell sang
so poignantly in his song "Fate's Right Hand," there are
many situations we've experienced or have yet to that are void of all
humor, and therefore never to be understood.
I've gotta admit, Mother Nature was the farthest thing from my mind at
the end of December. With head cocked sideways, nose pressed an inch from
the popcorn-textured ceiling of my guest bathroom, and me making
yet another futile attempt at getting Old Man River (a vibrant shade of
blue) painted in a stubborn corner, I overheard the news about the tsunami.
My first thought was that "Tsunami" was a city. Inquisitive
as to just what is was, I stopped mid-stroke and, with brush in hand,
ran into the living room, stood in front of the television, and watched
the events unfold. Helpless, I could do nothing but cry as the destruction,
images, and stories of the people along the ill-fated coast lines of Asia
and East Africa were broadcast.
I began my newsletter before this unfathomable event hit. As I come to
its conclusion, I can't help but think about how surely someone else along
that devastated coast line had been, just like me, frustrated while struggling
through a task on their acre of land. Perhaps, just like me, they too
had been chuckling their way through their mishaps — all in
hopes of bettering the life they knew. Little did they know that, come
morning, all of their hard work, not to mention the world they lived in
and perhaps even their life or the lives of their loved ones, would be
leveled to the ground or swept out to sea.
Mother Nature may have delivered the tsunami that caused this unprecedented
disaster, but I truly believe that if we all rise from our own acres and
unite together to help in the recovery process — be it through charity
donations, volunteer work or even just prayer — we can be the ones
who deliver the recipients of her wrath some hope.
All the best this year on your acre of land. May it bloom.
Kind Regards,
Terri Hendrix
(C)(P) THM Music January 2005
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